


You Can't Get There from Here

by romanticalgirl



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Gallavich Week, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 17:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7516108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey's out of prison and everything has changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can't Get There from Here

Mickey walks down the street, looking at nothing he recognizes. He knows what used to be there – the laundromat that’s now a vegan cafe, the head shop that’s now high-end boutique, the Kash and Grab that’s now a Starbucks. It makes him feel like he’s in some sort of fucking horror movie like the Stepford Wives or something. He feels out of place with his knuckle tats exposed, so he shoves his hands in his pockets. 

It doesn’t really help, since he’s in some thrift-store clothes that feel like they’ve been washed so many times all that’s left is thread held together by bleach and industrial soap. Still, they’re better than the state his clothes were in when they gave him those at the prison. The pants were too baggy and the shirt was too tight, and he didn’t need his fucking parka in the middle of summer. At least in these he doesn’t look like an ex-con, just some down on his luck asshole from the wrong side of the tracks. 

Only now they’ve moved the right side of the tracks into the wrong side and claimed it for themselves. He tugs at his shirt collar and feels the fabric rub against the gauze on his chest. He’d gotten the money that Svetlana had put aside for him and, first thing, gone to get his tattoo removed. He wouldn’t be able to get rid of the scar – Ian had been right, it was infected – but all that was left was a slightly darker stripe of skin across his chest. 

He keeps walking, ignoring all the looks he’s getting. He’s still Mickey Milkovich and prison didn’t take away his swagger, so he tosses a dark look at anyone who gets in his way or keeps looking at him like he’s dog shit on their shoe. Muscle memory twists him through the streets full of nice houses – starter homes! the signs all scream. Perfect for your new family! - and before he knows it, he’s in front of his house. What used to be his house. Instead it’s something new and for sale. He reads the information on the sheet and smirks. Four bedrooms, three baths, a daylight basement with amazing storage capacity, quick access to downtown. Everything has fucking exclamation points after it like no house has ever been anything like this.

He gets to the price and nearly chokes. He crumples the flier and tosses it on the unreal green of the lawn and starts walking again. He knows where he’s going even if he doesn’t want to admit it. Given the bullshit price they’re charging for his old property, he can’t imagine what the bigger lot the Gallaghers had went for. He wonders what scam Frank tried to pull to get some of it.

There are three kids in the front yard, the grass the same green that his was. The tricycle on the lawn doesn’t look much different than the one Liam had, except all the wheels are attached and it doesn’t look like the handlebars had been set on fire. He goes past it, eyes trained on the ground. There’s an Asian couple sitting in front of Kevin and Veronica’s house, talking with the garden lesbians. The sidewalks have been fixed, even and clean, and the road doesn’t have buckles in it anymore. It’s like a different world.

He’s surprised to see the Alibi sign still up, and, as much as he knows it’s not going to be the same, he heads toward it. It’s still a bar, but there’s a chalkboard sign on the wall listing the day’s special and the thought of banana-infused whiskey makes him want to vomit on the shoes of the guy sitting at the outside table. Mickey walks past it and ducks into an alley, lighting up a cigarette and sucking the smoke into his lungs and holding it.

It’s like being in the Twilight Zone, and he never for an instant thought he’d actually want to be back in prison, but at least there shit made sense. This is fucking Alice in Wonderland bullshit, and he’d like to wake up. Except he knows he’s awake and all of this is too fucking real. He digs out the phone he’d bought from a 7-11 and then reaches in his back pocket for the post-it note. He dials the number and waits, tapping his foot as he takes another hit off the cigarette and blows out a smoke ring.

“Who the fuck is this and what the fuck do you want?”

“Yeah, yeah. I love you too, bitch.”

There’s a long silence and then Mandy shrieks. “Asshole! Where the fuck are you?”

“I thought I was in the South Side, but I’m pretty sure I’m in fucking Narnia or some shit.” He takes another drag. “This is fucking scary. What is wrong with these assholes?”

“Brainwashed by the man.” Mandy laughs. “Shit. You’re out?”

“Yeah. Couple days. Had some shit to take care of. Figured I’d get that done before I called. You still in New York?”

“Yeah.” Her voice is soft, and Mickey doesn’t want to wait for whatever it is she’s going to say, whatever platitudes she’s going to offer. Nothing and no one waited for him. 

“Figure I’ll find an apartment somewhere. Get a job to keep the parole officer off my ass. Walk the straight and narrow.”

“Straight. Right.” 

He laughs at Mandy’s snicker. “Yeah, yeah. Fuck you.”

“You could call-”

He cuts her off sharply. “Can’t hang out with the family. Previous associates and shit.” He knows she’s not talking about family – blood family – and he’s found out that’s the only one that lasts. The ones you make unravel too easy. “It’s cool.”

“Mick.”

“Mandy, he didn’t even give a shit that I got convicted on the bullshit, trumped-up charge. He’s sure as fuck not going to want to see me now. Ex-boyfriend, attempted murderer. Not the guy you want to bring home to mama.”

“His mother is Monica.” Mickey laughs, coughing out smoke. “Let me give you his number.”

“I don’t want it.” His voice is flat. He does want it, but he also knows if he has it, he’ll make a fucking fool of himself, and begging once was more than he ever thought he’d do. He’s not about to beg again, not about to ask for something he’d thought, once, was his without asking.

“Okay. Okay. Look, I’m going talk to some of my friends – my _other_ friends—in the area and see if I can get some places for you. Housing shit and that sort of thing. Okay?”

“Yeah. Fine.”

“Where are you staying?”

“I found a Motel 6 need the freeway. I can afford it for another night or two.”

“Shit. You need money?”

“Nah. I had some stashed away, so I’m good. Besides, you live in New York. I doubt you’ve got extra to just hand out. Besides, I’m your big brother, so stop fucking worrying about me.”

“Yeah. Right. Okay. Look, go to Bobak’s Sausage on Archer. I’ve got a friend there; he’ll feed you for free.”

“If that’s a gay joke...”

Mandy laughs. “Shit, that would have been awesome. Just go get some food. I’ll text you later.” She hangs up before Mickey can respond. He grinds his cigarette out on the pavement and heads toward the mouth of the alley. There’s a cop standing there, no doubt called over by one of the concerned citizens afraid of Mickey since he’s not wearing designer clothes. 

“You gonna arrest me for littering?”

“Should I?”

Mickey rolls his eyes and heads away from him. He waits for some sort of commentary from the cop, waits for a comment on him being a Milkovich, but maybe that shit doesn’t matter anymore. He catches the L and finds the restaurant after a few false turns. It’s actually more of a deli with meat in display cases and fresh fish in ice buckets, but it smells good, and Mickey’s stomach growls. He heads to the counter, focusing on the menu.

“Help you?”

“He’s here to see me, Gregor.”

Mickey’s head snaps up and he wonders what kind of sentence he’d get for actual murder, which is what he’s going to do to his goddamned sister. “No, I’m not, Gregor.”

“You know him, Ian?”

“Yeah. I got this. Go take your break.” Ian glances around the store, avoiding Mickey’s eyes. “Mandy said a friend of hers was coming, asked me to cut ‘em a break on the food. Should have known.”

“Why?” Mickey focuses on Ian and doesn’t look away. “I doubt you were keeping track of time. At least the time I was doing.”

Ian shrugs and finally looks at Mickey. “So you’re out.”

“Given your better-than-thou attitude last time I saw you, I figured you’d have moved up in the world. Instead, here you are, slinging sausages around just like at the Fairy Tale.” Mickey smirks and slams a ten on the counter. “Let’s see if you’re still good at it.”

Ian’s face tightens and he moves to get Mickey’s order ready. Mickey waits to feel bad or guilty for lashing out at Ian, but neither feeling comes. Maybe this is what Ian felt before. Mickey’s honestly surprised that he feels it now. Ian hands Mickey’s food over then makes his change, setting the rumpled bills on the counter. “Drop me a text when you get hauled in next time. I’ll start a betting pool and we’ll see who wins. Try and stay out for at least a week, huh? Let us make a little money off you.”

Mickey smirks and takes a bite out of the sausage, tearing at it with his teeth. “You want something to place money on, Gallagher, bet on me never talking to you again.” He glances at the money on the counter then back at Ian before turning toward the door. “Keep the change. Looks like you need it even more than I do.”


End file.
